


Two a.m. coffee

by KersPastei



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: (looks at lyf) so is anyone gonna project on him or do i need to do it myself, INTIMACY is stored in the HAIR, Other, and also in the music, they/he lyf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KersPastei/pseuds/KersPastei
Summary: In which Lyf drinks coffee and has some inconvenient emotions
Relationships: Lyfrassir Edda/Marius von Raum
Comments: 11
Kudos: 198





	Two a.m. coffee

It’s about 2 a.m., ship’s time, and Lyf is leaning against the counter in the Aurora’s kitchen, holding a mug of coffee brewed so strong they can already feel the headache gathering behind their eyes as they sip it. Or maybe that’s just exhaustion; it’s been over a day since he last slept, and even then it was only two hours at most, snatched in increments between nightmares. At this point he’s running entirely on coffee, spite, and the desperate hope that if they just get tired enough, maybe they’ll finally get some peace when they inevitably pass out.

It’s been months, now, but every time he closes his eyes he still sees the images from the black box, a never-ending parade of horrors that wakes them screaming and leaves iridescent colors dancing at the corners of their vision. They hope, very much, that the flickering rainbows are just a side effect of the nightmares. They know, somewhere in their bones, that they’re not that lucky.

Lyf is broken out of his thoughts when a sudden pain on his scalp makes him realize they’ve been tugging on their hair, a nervous habit that he’d never quite managed to shake for all that it risked messing up his carefully crafted braids. Of course, that’s not much of an issue now; the only braid they’ve allowed themself since fleeing Yggdrasil is the simple sleeping braid he’s wearing now, and even then only for practicality’s sake, because sleeping with so much hair loose gets very uncomfortable. (Not that they’re doing any sleeping right now, but they’d had a fit of optimism a couple hours ago, and hadn’t bothered to take the braid out when they realized they once again wouldn’t be getting any rest.)

The ordinary mourning rituals seem so small and pointless now, but he doesn’t know what else to do; how does one grieve the loss of an entire _star system_ to unfathomable beings of madness from beyond the universe? There are no gestures large enough. But doing nothing would feel worse, and so they leave their hair unbraided and focus on repressing their grief and guilt so it doesn’t tear them apart.

He’s doing a pretty terrible job of repressing that right now, he thinks, and sighs. Taking another sip of his coffee, they try to limit their thoughts only to the taste and the soft pulse of the headache behind his eyes. They’re so engrossed in thinking about not thinking about everything that’s happened that the woosh of the kitchen door opening and the soft tap of approaching steps barely register in their mind.

“Interesting time to drink coffee, Inspector,” a voice says from right beside him.

Lyf startles, and his mug slips out of his hand. It hits the floor and shatters with a crash, splashing lukewarm coffee across their shoes and sending pieces of ceramic scattering across the floor.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to-,” starts von Raum, because of _course_ it’s him, but he doesn’t get any farther because that’s when Lyf, to their complete and utter mortification, abruptly bursts into tears.

It’s stupid, he _knows_ it’s stupid. The mug wasn’t anything special and neither was the coffee. All he has to do is clean up the mess and grab another cup, but instead he’s just standing here sobbing like a child in front of _von Raum_ of all people and he can’t seem to stop.

“Um, Lyf?” von Raum sounds extremely lost and more than a little concerned. “Do you want me to grab you more coffee? I didn’t mean to make you drop it.”

Lyf shakes their head, dragging a trembling hand through their hair. The coffee really isn’t the problem here; it’s the coffee _and_ the fact that it’s von Raum who’s seeing this _and_ their exhaustion _and_ the nightmares _and_ the Bifrost _and and and_. Distantly, they know they’re a bit hysterical from sleep deprivation, but that part of their mind is drowned out by the much larger part that just wants to curl up in a ball and shake until the world goes away.

Moving slowly, von Raum rests a hand on Lyf’s arm. When they don’t pull away, he tightens his grip and tugs them gently toward the kitchen table, away from the worst of the spill. “Alright, come on. Watch out, don’t step on that - there you go. Don’t move.” Von Raum pushes Lyf down into one of the chairs and turns away, stepping carefully around the biggest pieces of the broken mug.

Ducking his head, Lyf scrubs angrily at his eyes with the back of one hand until most of the tears are gone, although his cheeks remain stubbornly wet. He can hear von Raum moving around, but doesn’t look up until something is set in front of him with a soft clunk.

It’s a new mug, this time with the tag of a tea bag hanging over the side. Lyf turns a questioning gaze on von Raum, who shrugs.

“It seemed more calming than coffee,” he says, sitting down across from them.

Somewhat surprised by this show of consideration, Lyf draws the mug closer and mutters a quick thanks. It’s too hot to drink, but having something warm to wrap their hands around feels nice. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” von Raum asks after a moment, when it becomes clear that they aren’t going to say anything else. 

“No, and even if I did, why would I talk to _you_?” His snippiness is mostly borne of embarrassment; he’d quite like to hide in his room and not speak to von Raum again for a month, after that embarrassing breakdown, but he can’t just walk out now that von Raum has made tea for him. 

Still, if the rude response phases him, he doesn’t show it. “I _am_ a psychologist, you know.”

Lyf thinks about the time they walked in on him apparently psychoanalyzing a chair, and says, “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“You wound me, Inspector!” Von Raum says, collapsing back dramatically with a hand over his chest like he’s just been shot. “I put a lot of effort into forging my psych diploma!”

“I’m not an inspector anymore,” Lyf says automatically. It’s the familiar next step in their dance, but this time there’s a hitch in their voice that makes them want to crawl under the table in embarrassment. 

They don’t do that, because they’re an adult (theoretically) and adults don’t hide under tables just because they had an exhaustion-induced breakdown in front of their former prisoner/sworn enemy/definitely-not-crush. Instead, he detangles his hand from where he’s once again absentmindedly tugging at his hair and takes a sip of his tea. It’s still a little too hot to drink, but it gives him an excuse to break eye contact, so he puts up with it. 

“If you don’t want to talk, maybe I can distract you some other way?” 

“And what would that be?” Lyf asks warily. He’s been around von Raum long enough to know that any idea of his usually means trouble. 

He’s not sure what he was expecting - for him to start singing that damned song again? - but it certainly isn’t a simple, “Let me fix your hair?”

They almost inhale their tea in surprise at such a forward offer, and have to spend a few seconds coughing before they can answer. “ _What?_ ”

“No offense, but your hair’s a bit of a mess right now,” von Raum says, and then shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. “Raph likes having people mess with her hair when she’s upset, and I just thought … I don’t know. Never mind, you don’t have to.”

“Do you even know how to braid?” 

“Well, I don’t know anything as fancy as what you used to wear, but I’ve been around long enough to pick up the basics.”

The sleep deprivation must really be getting to them, because after a short pause they find themself nodding. “Please don’t get it tangled, or, I don’t know, do anything else embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry, Lyf, I’m a professional,” von Raum says confidently.

He pushes up from his seat and circles around the table to stand behind them. They hear him hum thoughtfully, and then there’s an unpleasant scraping noise as he grabs the chair next to them and drags it over so he can sit. A moment later, there’s a soft tug at Lyf’s braid, and von Raum’s hand appears in the corner of his vision to set his hair tie on the table. 

Whatever strange violin-manifesting powers he has apparently don’t extend to hairbrushes, because once he’s detangled the messy remnants of the braid, Lyf feels gentle fingers comb through his hair, slowly working out the tangles. 

As von Ra- _Marius,_ he’s got his hands in their _hair_ for gods’ sakes, they can use his name - as Marius works, he starts to sing softly, with none of the overdramatic enthusiasm Lyf usually hears from him. “Upon a wave of ghostfire, she strode into the maze, with six barrels on her pistol and her trigger all ablaze …”

Not that Lyf will admit it to his face, but he has a very pleasant singing voice when he’s not using it to drive them up the wall with annoyance. Between that and the soothing feeling of hands running through their hair, he finds himself relaxing almost without meaning to, melting back into his chair with a barely audible sigh of contentment. 

He zones out a bit after that, and it feels simultaneously like ages and only a few seconds have passed before the song ends and Marius is reaching past him to pick up the hair tie. 

“Good as new,” he announces proudly, letting the braid drop against their back. 

Lyf reaches back to run their fingers over it, feeling the neatly woven strands. It’s a good braid; better than what they would normally bother with at night, honestly. 

“Thank you,” they say quietly. 

There’s a fleeting touch on their shoulder, barely more than a passing brush as Marius stands up to return his chair to its proper place. 

“Any time, Lyf. I mean it.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you just Yearn?


End file.
